A Gift All His Own
by Toff
Summary: Grantaire believes he has the perfect birthday gift for Enjolras.
1. Death amongst Life

A Gift All His Own

Grantaire shuffled his way to his corner table in the Café Musain, surprisingly early. Even Enjolras wasn't there, and to Grantaire the whole room seemed to be dead. His plan was to get himself drunk before the meeting of the Les Amis de l'ABC so he could leave before his friends came. Before Enjolras came, to make marks on his map. The one Grantaire gave him.

Gibelotte, getting spider webs in the back room with an old broom, noticed Grantaire and greeted him.

"You're early if you're to go to the meeting." She yawned.

"I'm not going." Sighed Grantaire. "No questions. Bring me wine." He waved Gibelotte off, and she left him with the spiders.

In truth, there was nowhere he would rather be than that meeting. Grantaire loved nothing more than to sit in the corner and listen to Enjorlas talk of liberty. It wasn't what he talked about that snared Grantaire, it was the way words just flowed out of his mouth, the way he lit up. Seeing Enjolras happy was the biggest joy in Grantaire's otherwise intoxicated life. He believed in nothing but Enjorlas.

The date was October third, 1831, a day Grantaire both looked forward to and dreaded. Enjolras would be twenty-two. All the Les Amis had chipped in to buy Enjolras a new red vest, but Grantaire had a gift all his own: his absence.

Enjolras never seemed to like having him around. He belittled Grantaire constantly. Grantaire didn't seem to care, but deep down he really did.

Grantaire had always lived to see Enjolras happy. He considered a day in which Enjolras laughed the best of his life. Grantaire desperately wanted to be the one to make Enjolras happy, and today he'd do just that.

It was nearly time for the meeting of the Les Amis to begin when Grantaire considered himself drunk enough to be on his way. He sloshed into the rain, but not without leaving a note on his corner table:

__

Dear Enjolras,

I regret to inform you that I have decided to discontinue my association with the brave and most noble Les Amis de l'ABC. Why? It is my birthday gift to you. I wish that I could remain

Loyally Yours,

R

P.S. I will think of you when I am a free man. 

Grantaire did not know very well where he was going. He ended up on the balcony of his flat, soaked with rain. The meeting was in progress. Grantaire wished he could see Enjolras' joy, euphoria. He longed for the Café Musain and Enjorlas' speeches. 

Peering down onto the earth, Grantaire could see the Café. Feuilly was ambling in, late. Enjolras' mood would be spoiled! He heard himself curse Feuilly, feeling far away and alone. Grantaire could do without the other Les Amis, but without Enjolras he was a bird with a broken wing.

Again Grantaire looked below him, studying the height of his balcony. 

"Injured birds can't fly_." _He observed.

Grantaire already had one foot over the balcony when the Café caught his eye. A small figure was running out of it, paper flapping in it's pinhead-sized hand. Enjolras? No, it couldn't be. Grantaire was just now sitting on his balcony rail, giving the earth one last glance. He closed his eyes and-

The balcony door slammed shut.

"Grantaire!" came a voice.

Grantaire spun around, planting his feet firmly on the ground. Standing in front of him was none other Enjolras, looking majestic. 

"Did you like my present? " asked Grantaire, thinking he knew the answer.

"Not in the slightest!" Enjolras exclaimed. "We need all the men we can get!"

"You…want me to come back to the Les Amis de l'ABC?" Grantaire mumbled, looking at his feet.

Enjolras nodded, a phantom of a smile creeping onto his face. 


	2. Life amongst Death

A Gift All His Own

Chapter Two- Emptiness

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Author's Note: People apparently like Chapter One, which amazed me greatly…well, whatever, I'm not here to wallow in self-pity, I'm here to, um, bring you this chapter? I wrote this way too late, last night, when what I really wanted to do was write a poem about Enjolras. Or sleep. Because of that, this chapter in Enjolras's POV is overly poetic, and also sort of confusing. Well whatever. I still can't tell whether or not this is a slash…Um, Enjoy?

Enjolras strutted majestically into the Café Musain, bringing life to the musty back room. He greeted his small band of followers by giving them a holier-than-thou look, picking them off, one by one. He was later than usual, he knew it, but there was something else unusual about the musty back room. 

However, Enjolras sensed something was wrong the second he stepped into the room. There was no loud arguing, no drunken taunts to be heard. The laughter that pierced the air sounded deformed. Where was the nonsense, The rambling? Where was everything Enjolras hated about the society's meetings? Everything he complained about? He looked around, as though expecting all these missing bothers to bumble through the doors in an explosion of annoyance.

The emptiness troubled him. For one day in his life, the café was exactly has he had wished it to be. This troubled him severely. Enjolras wasn't sure he liked the stiffness of the room, the general simplicity of holding a meeting. It wasn't quite the L'Amis de L'ABC to simply sit and hear about the impending revolution without having to answer silly questions or raise his voice in anger. 

Then it hit him. Grantaire was missing.

Enjolras's eyes flew back to the corner table, hoping that maybe Grantaire would be there and Enjolras could forget the haunted aura of the room. Of course, the table was empty, save for a few bottles and a crumbled piece of paper. Enjolras stumbled over, feeling numb. He picked up the paper and read:

__

Dear Enjolras,

I regret to inform you that I have decided to discontinue my association with the brave and most noble L'Amis d'ABC. Why? It is my birthday gift to you. I wish that I could remain

Loyally Yours,

R

P.S. I will think of you when I am a free man. 

Enjolras read it once, twice. He traced the signature with his hand. Without letting go of the paper, and forgetting to tell off Feuilly, who had just skidded into place, Enjolras bolted into the rain. His feet carried him to a place he knew only by sight: Grantaire's flat.

Stopping only once, to ask the landlady which flat Grantaire lived in, Enjolras continued his tirade to find the man he had scorned mere hours before and a skeptic and a drunkard.

Grantaire's flat was messy and dark, the sour smell of liquor swirling in the air. Enjolras stumbled over a carpet of endless bottles and crumpled papers, which upon further inspection proved to be old rough-draughts of Enjolras's speeches.

Enjolras nearly fell onto the balcony. Sitting before him, perched precariously on the balcony rail, was Grantaire, whose mind seemed to already taken the plunge. Enjolras stepped onto the balcony, slamming the door as he did.

Enjolras attempted to remain stately and called out.

"Grantaire!" He beckoned.

The noise jilted Grantaire, and he climbed safely onto the balcony to see what was the matter. Enjolras could not believe that he had inflicted more problems on Grantaire than vice versa, that the drunkard suffered more than the sober. After all, the drunkard could erase emotion, but the sober had to bear sleep under the weight of it.

Grantaire was in a state. He was wet. He dripped from everywhere, from his hair, from his clothes, from his eyes. Had it not been for the streaks of red, Enjolras doubted Grantaire would have noticed his tears under all the lamenting from the sky.

"Did you like my present?" croaked Grantaire as wretched as any orphan.

"Not in the slightest!" Enjolras exclaimed. He stumbled for a second over what to say; expressing emotion was not something he cared to do, not now anyway. "We need all the men we can get!"

"You…want me to come back to the L'Amis d'ABC?" Grantaire said, obviously stunned.

Enjolras nodded, and that was the moment he realized there was truly a person under all the wine.


End file.
